One Cold Night
by Alex1
Summary: A short story about Raphael and Leonardo and the bad blood between them...


**One Cold Night**

Sometimes I think that I must be one of God's greatest jokes. It's like the Almighty finished making the earth, the oceans, the people and shit and decided to celebrate by inventing a few six-packs of celestial beer. Then he gets Himself tanked, and thinks "Turtle-men! Tee hee, what a swell idea!" and bang, there's me. I guess it must be amusing watching me waste my life skulking 'round the Big Apple, scrounging and fighting. Fighting the Foot, or sick pukes off the street, or my own wonderful brother, put on earth as that extra little detail just to make my life that much crappier.

'Cause right now, I'm pretty damn close to taking Leo's head off. Technically, we're supposed to be out rustling up some supplies for winter. Blankets, light bulbs, that sort of stuff. We're no more than fifteen minutes into the trip when he starts up with a whole load of shit about how we wouldn't have to worry so much about Splinter's health if it weren't for me and how much stress I'm causing him with my irresponsibility. Leo, the angel child, the good son. Chrissakes. So I told him off and I forget who took the first swing, but now we're circling each other like lions, and the one thing on my mind is how good it would feel to see Leo eat some dirt. We move in at the same time, and like always, it's a quick, nasty scrap. He nails me a pretty good one in the ribs but not before I add some color to an old bruise on his cheek. I don't even know why we bother sparring during training. Asshole kicks me into the wall and I'm thinking I'll add a matching bruise to the other side of his face, but a noisy group of people come strolling up the alley and we gotta split. We glare daggers at each other, and take the next few blocks in silence.

That's the way these things always work out - they end without really ending. Sometimes Mike and Don drag us apart, or we stop 'cause we hear Splinter coming in, but most of the time one of us storms off. Most of the time it's me. I get to that point when I think I might really kill the motherfucker, and I just gotta get him out of my sight, get some air. If we were human, I'd have taken off for the other side of the country by now. Maybe I still will. But that's the joke, see, that there's only four of us and one of them happens to be a brother whose guts I fucking hate. If only he'd get out of my life, get himself killed one of these nights. Sometimes I really wish.

###

We're shortcutting past the wharfs to make up for lost time. Raph is still two steps ahead of me, and I have half a mind to turn around and do this some other night so I won't have to see him for the next few hours. Cheek still stings. I don't even know why I bother. I'm sure I've tried everything in the book as far as discussing, threatening, cajoling, and reasoning are concerned and it doesn't make an iota of difference because it always ends up with us taking it to the concrete. As awful as it sounds, sometimes I want it that way, I want to beat some sense into his thick skull.

Raph's always been a bit of a loose cannon, and sometimes he does stuff that's just plain retarded, because his testosterone told him to do it before his brain had time to argue. A couple of weeks ago he disappeared for four days, no calls, nothing, and finally staggered home with a bullet in his shoulder and a sack full of money. He thought it was a good idea to take on a group of seven bikers in the middle of a drug deal. Of course, if he _had_ been killed, his body would have lain in the alley for days before we even considered him to be gone long enough for us to start searching. My brother, ladies and gentlemen.

I tried to bring it up tonight, and naturally he turns it around on me. _I'm _the one who's trying to run everyone's life. _I'm_ the one who doesn't appreciate the efforts he makes to scrounge cash and food for us. It doesn't matter how I phrase it, I guess. I could send him a Hallmark card with flowers and a note, '_please stop acting like such an inconsiderate moron_' and in a minute we'd still be at each other's throats. I swear fate gave me Raph as some sort of test. I can keep my act together in the middle of furious battle with half a dozen ninjas, but all I have to do is think of Raph's irreverent smirk, his childish tantrums, his deliberate, reckless stupidity and I lose it.

Raph slows suddenly, and I see there's something going on at the docks.

###

There's three guys, big burly dudes who come out of a car that they've driven up to the pier. They look around a bit, then drag a fourth guy out of the back seat. This guy's hog-tied, and the biggest man pretty much tosses the fellow over his shoulder and walks down to the water. Poor bastard's flailing about and making all sorts of inarticulate noises, but he hasn't got a chance.

It's not like we've got a lot of time to be dickin' around right now, but we can't keep going without taking a closer look. The city's always real interesting at night.

There's not a ton of cover as Leo and I make our way down to the dock. But we get close enough to see what's going on. They drop the guy at the end of the pier and kick him around 'till he's black and blue and curled up like a shrimp. "Come on, ya little snitch," one of the beefy bastards is saying, "we know you went to the cops. What did ya say, huh? What'ya tell 'em?"

"Nuthin'! I didn't tell 'em nuthin'!" the guy sobs. His mouth is full of blood. One of his tormentors puts a cigarette out between the guy's eyes and he screams. The other two start tying this huge rock to the guy's feet.

Leo and I exchange a quick glance. Then we _move_.

I take the biggest puke, Leo takes the other two. One of them just happens to look up at the last second and see us coming. He yells a warning that makes our job a lot harder. Two blows to the fat man's gut and he doubles over before I sweep him off his feet. Big bastard gets up a lot faster than you'd think he would. Tries to grab me as I maneuver around him. I let him rush me, and toss him to the ground easily using the momentum of his own bulk. My foot connects to at least one of his chins with a solid crack and he goes down real nice and easy.

Out of the two men Leo was fighting, one of them is lying a few feet away, moaning, and Leo is tangling with the other one. This one's a scrappy street fighter who's pulled a knife and gets in real close. They're locked together, and I hear the guy shriek like a girl as Leo breaks his knife hand.

I go to untie the sniveling victim, who just stares at me in shock. When you spend your life fighting, you know that split seconds change everything. I see the motion from the corner of my eye. It's the third man, the punk Leo had tossed aside earlier. I yell something, but the sound gets only halfway out before the gunshot blows the eardrums through my skull. Leo and the man in his grip are both thrown into the water, I don't even see them go under, it happens so fast. The fucker with the gun turns it on me, and I hit the ground in a forward roll. I hear the shot and wait to feel some sort of searing pain, but I'm lucky. This guy's not nearly so lucky. I land in a crouch and my sai goes through his throat a split second later.

I don't wait for his body to hit the ground, but run for the edge of the dock, throw off my coat, and dive for the spot Leo went under. The shock of cold water is worse than being nailed by a sucker punch, and for a second my brain's just frozen stupid. It's pitch black, and the dirty water has got that metallic scent of blood. I swim as deep as I can go, feeling around like a blind man.

###

The gunshot goes off and the next thing I know, I'm in the freezing cold water and sinking like a rock. Sloppy work on my part. Should have noticed the gun much earlier. It's totally dark, and I wouldn't be able to tell which way is up or down if it weren't for the fact that I'm definitely falling in one direction. The man I was fighting is dead weight, which is exactly what he is - dead. The bullet must have hit and killed him because he's not moving. He does, however, have a death grip on me and when I move to get him off, a flash of pain goes through my arm. It throbs like it's bleeding. I guess the bullet went clean through him and hit me as an afterthought.

I can't see, I can't breathe, and I can barely move because my limbs are quickly freezing. I'm struck by how ironic it would be for a turtle to drown. I have to get this man off of me. I try prying him off with my good arm, but it takes an inordinate amount of thrashing and kicking to finally push him loose. He falls away, along with my waterlogged trench coat, and with a desperate burst of energy I kick my way towards the surface.

Something hits me in the back like a battering ram. The blow reverberates through my shell as I'm knocked end over end. I gasp, choke on water, and feel my eyes and windpipe stinging as I fight to reach air. A huge funnel of water sucks me into its current and I'm dragged like a rag doll, still flailing. Some part of my brain, the part not shutting down as bright sparks start appearing behind my eyes, realizes that I was hit by a passing boat and am now being violently pulled in its undertow. The water is like an assault, but I can't fight my way out of it because the blood loss, the cold, the blow from the boat, have all made my body sluggish. In a couple minutes I'm going to pass out.

I don't know how, but I dive. My heartbeat is pounding in my head and I wonder if I've just sealed my own death sentence, but then I feel the wash of water pass over me and there's just a gentle lapping rocking me back and forth. I surge for the surface and it feels like an eternity before I break through the water and suck huge gulps of sweet, sweet night air. I cough water and gasp some more, blinking the water from my eyes, seeing the smoggy New York skyline and keenly aware of how great it is to see and breathe.

For a couple minutes I just lie there, too tired and relieved to do much else other than let the gentle waves support me. I have to make a bid for shore though, because my efforts to this point will have been pretty useless if I die of hypothermia. Turtles and cold don't mix very well and I'm no exception. I can see the lights of the dock a little ways away and am surprised by how far away I've been dragged. I right myself and start swimming, my wounded arm carried at my side as my aching body makes its way slowly toward land. I have to find Raph. Where is he? He was alone on the dock with the man who had a gun. How many minutes ago had that been?

I'm positively frozen and exhausted by the time I reach the shore. It's a small wharf with a couple sailboats tied to it. Not the same one. I must be on the other side of the harbour. With one lame arm, I barely have the strength to drag myself onto the dock and as soon as I do, I fall over, shaking badly, my teeth chattering. I can't lie still or I'll probably fall asleep and freeze to death. I half crawl, half stumble up the dock, trailing water and rubbing the sides of my arms to force warmth into them. It's a long walk back to the dock Raph is at, and an even longer walk home. I know New York pretty well though. There's a hotel right by the harbor and no one sees me steal behind the building to where the big vent blasts the heat and smells of the kitchen into the alleyway. The warm air is heaven. I curl up in the corner against the vent and let the air slowly heat me. I tie my wounded arm with my bandana and rest, gathering my strength.

###

I stay down as long as I can, which for me, being a turtle, is around fifteen minutes. I think I'm pushing twenty, and still nothing. Doesn't matter how much I blink, I still can't see worth a damn. I went all the way down to the sand bed at the bottom, and scoured along it, going deeper into the harbour, and right now I figure I'm around twenty-five feet below the surface. My lungs are killing me. I gotta get air. I aim for the surface and as soon as I hit it, I'm gasping like a beached whale. I yell for Leo, thinking that maybe somehow he's fine, that he got himself out of the water and is waving to me from the dock. Nothing. Silence. I'm fucking freezing. I suck a lungful of air and dive again. I have this vision that Leo is lying either dead or unconscious somewhere on the bottom, his gunshot wound bleeding all over the sand. I must have missed a spot, gone right past him and not known it. Fuck. I gotta stop thinking this, gotta stay calm and work my way inch by inch back to the dock.

Going back is worse. My body feels like it's made of rubber, 'cause that's how fast it can move in this god awful cold. I have to go up again for air after only around eight minutes. Still no Leo. How long could he survive under water? Thirty, forty minutes? Must be getting close to that now. My hand brushes against something solid and I grab for it. I feel an arm, a torso, but realize in a minute that it's not Leo. A dead body. A man. Maybe the man who fell with Leo. I search the area within a ten-foot radius and all I get are weeds and pop cans and other garbage.

When I climb back onto the dock, my whole body is raw from the cold. I put on my jacket and crouch in a ball, trying to get warm. There's still the dead man and his unconscious buddy on the dock. Looks like the guy we saved from them split 'cause he's nowhere to be seen. I keep thinking that if Leo's still alive and down there, I've got around two minutes to get to him. Back in the water, and I crawl out ten minutes later, shaking like a leaf. There really are only two possibilities at this point. Either Leo is dead at the bottom of the harbour and I somehow missed him and couldn't find him in time, or he's not there because he managed to survive and swim somewhere. Either way, I'm no good sitting where I am, freezing to death.

Still, if he is dead, there's no way I can leave his body down there.

That's when I really start thinking it might be true. He might have been killed by that gunshot or else drowned. We tried to pound the crap out of each other earlier tonight. And I yelled and swore at him, and then wished for his death.

Now I'm just talking crazy shit to myself. None of this means anything. Leo and I fight all the time. But what if that was the last time? Sweet Jesus, I might've said some stuff, but it can't be true. God, and Buddha, and Allah, and whoever the hell, please don't let it be true. This is all a sick, sick joke if it is. And what if it is? Is it my fault? Do I deserve- what?- do I deserve for it to be my fault?

I can't take this. I've got to go back in and find him. No, I've gotta get home. If Leo's okay, he would have gone home already.

I start running. I can't run very well because every muscle is frozen stiff. But all the time I'm imagining banging the door down and seeing Mike and Don get up and say, "Leo? No, he's not back. Why? What's wrong?" My chest aches and I know it's not just from lack of breath.

###

There's no one at the dock when I get there. No Raph, at any rate. The man who shot at me is dead from a sai wound though. Raph's probably headed home already.

The heat vent behind the hotel warmed me up pretty well and I'm jogging along at a good pace, although my arm is all caked and sore. What a brutal night. How do plans always go so awfully wrong?

I get into the tunnels close to home, round one of the bends, and see a shape huddled up against the wall. With a start, I realize it's Raph. Why the hell is he curled up on the ground here? I touch his shoulder and he looks up at me as if wakening from sleep. His eyes grow really wide. He has the strangest look on his face, as if I've got two heads or something.

"Raph, what are you doing here?" I kneel down beside him. "Are you okay?" He just keeps staring at me with that slightly unnerving expression, all incredulous, and amazed, and thoughtful. Very un-Raph. Then I notice that his face is blue with cold. He's practically ice. He's shivering like mad because he's wet. I cringe to think that if I hadn't come along at that minute, he might have fallen asleep like that. I ask him what happened, but he just shakes his head with that wide-eyed look. His mouth forms the word, "_Leo?_" with curious soundlessness.

I've got to get him home. It's an effort to hoist him to his feet but soon we're walking, or rather, I'm half-dragging, half-carrying him. He has a sort of glazed expression now, and I keep talking to make sure he doesn't nod off. So I tell him about how I got hit by the boat and ended up on the other side of the harbour. And how I warmed up by the hotel and went back to look for him, but didn't find him. He must be listening because he says, "Lucky, Leo," though the words are kind of slurred. Yeah, I guess I was pretty lucky. "No, me," he corrects. Lucky I found him, I guess he means.

We get in the door and I yell for Mike and Don to help me out, to grab a bunch of towels and fill the bathtub with warm water. Hot towels, lots of blankets, and three cups of warm tea later, Raph is back to his normal color, although he still looks tired as hell. He falls asleep under all the blankets and we leave him that way. While cleaning up my arm, Mike points out that he probably got so cold and wet from diving into the water to look for me after I went under. Now that I think about it, it must have been pretty horrible swimming around searching for me, not finding anything, and almost getting hypothermia in the process. Suddenly, I feel like a heel for lecturing him, for getting into a fight with him earlier this evening. How trivial that whole thing looks now, when all I can do is watch him sleep.


End file.
